


My Young Demosthenes

by BorisTheSpider



Series: Sidecut!Laurens/Lams College AU [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorisTheSpider/pseuds/BorisTheSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton and Laurens are roommates. Laurens spends a long time on his hair.</p><p>(or, 5 times laurens had perfect hair & 1 time he didn't [feat. sidecut!laurens])</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Young Demosthenes

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the [sept. 11, 1779 letter](http://founders.archives.gov/?q=%20Author%3A%22Hamilton%2C%20Alexander%22&s=1111311111&r=3&sr=laurens) in which hammy is all "hey babe why tf won't u text back i texted u like 5 or 6 times" it's not really relevant i just really like that letter.
> 
> the french in #1 was all me. any mistakes aren't even google translate's fault. i took two years of french in high school and i do duolingo almost-daily but i am nowhere near fluent. like, how lafayette couldn't speak a work of english when he first arrived in america? that's me with french. so please let me know if there are any mistakes.
> 
> this was originally a regular ol' one-shot but i couldn't figure out how to continue the story so now it's a 5+1. it was inspired by [this art](http://yelyzavetaart.tumblr.com/post/134894598067/more-modern-au-lams-shenanigans-for-john-laurens). there was a post about sidecut!laurens taking forever to do his hair, and that's what really inspired this, but i think it's been deleted D:
> 
> so yeah i started writing this in february in the middle of the student union. i never thought i'd write a college au but here it is.
> 
> anyway i've been up all night writing the rest of it so i haven't slept at all. sleep-deprived hamilton? that's all me.
> 
> this is a long note but i always think of laurens in my head as "laurens" but to make the narration seem more natural i tried to refer to him as john at all times. the times hammy refers to him as laurens are all intentional but if i missed any in the narration please tell me.

1

Alexander sighs as he watches Laurens toss out _yet another_ empty bottle of hair gel and pull a new one out of the cabinet. The man went through more hair gel than could be entirely healthy. Really, it’s a wonder he has any money left over for essentials – like, y’know, food. Which they’re supposed to be getting right now. Plus the whole “super important meeting with _George motherfreakin’ Washington_ ” thing. Yeah, no big deal. Alexander looks at his watch and frowns.

“John, we’re thirteen minutes late.”

“Sorry, just a sec,” John says as he pulls a few strands down to artfully frame his face.

Alexander huffs. He thinks he might be a little bit in love but it’s in times like these that that’s really tested. “Fourteen minutes now.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” John wipes his hands on a towel and backs out of the bathroom, grabbing his jacket on his way to the front door.

Alexander follows quickly, rushing him down the stairs and out of the building. The restaurant’s a couple blocks away and Alexander takes John's arm and practically frogmarches him down the street. He’s a little angry, yeah, but mostly worried about how Washington will react to their tardiness. What if he’s not even there anymore? He’s known to have a bit of a temper; he might have just stormed out of the restaurant when the two of them hadn’t shown up at 6 o’clock sharp. Or, what if he’s sitting at a table, quietly steeping in his own rage, waiting for a chance to unleash it on the next poor soul who mildly inconveniences him?

“Hey.”

Alexander shakes himself out of that thought process. He looks up to see that they’ve arrived, and John’s looking at him with furrowed brows.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You ready?”

Alexander takes a deep breath, lets it out, “yeah.”

John nods and they both walk into the restaurant. They don’t spot Washington immediately, but the maître d’ shows them to an isolated booth where they find Washington and a starry-eyed Gilbert du Motier (known to his friends as the Marquis de Lafayette, for reasons since lost to the sands of time). Alexander isn’t sure if he’s happy to see his friend or mortified that Lafayette’s found Washington – Lafayette is prone to hero worship and eager for a father figure, and it seems he’s found one in the old general.

“Ah! Mister Hamilton, Mister Laurens,” Washington nods at them both in greeting, looking a little flustered at all the attention Lafayette’s been heaping on him.

“Mes amis!” Lafayette crows and embraces them both, _bises_ and all. “Ça va?”

John pats him on the back, saying, “Très bien! Et toi?” while Alexander answers with just a, “ouais, ça va” – being more than a little intimidated to meet _the_ General George Washington – and slides into the booth.

“You’re late.”

Immediately, Alexander is petrified. _Shit_. He’s screwed up his one shot. He hardly hears John and Lafayette conversing in French, even though they’re right next to him. All he can hear is Washington’s laugh.

What?

Washington’s _laugh_.

Oh.

He was joking. He’s not even angry, just pulling Hamilton’s leg.

Alexander’s eye twitches.

He says (loudly), “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. John took forever getting ready. You know, the whole—“ he gestures vaguely at his head, shooting a glance at Laurens out of the corner of his eye. John rolls his eyes at him and Lafayette just laughs. Alexander returns his gaze to Washington, “So, you met Gilbert?”

Washington’s expression is one of stony resolve. “Yes, although I could only understand about half of what he said.”

Alexander nods sagely, “Yes, we’ve been working on his English. He’s coming along wonderfully, but he’s not quite fluent yet.”

Laurens and Lafayette snicker softly, but Washington doesn’t seem to notice. In reality, Lafayette has been immersed in an English-speaking society for several years, and is therefore quite fluent. He likes messing with people, though, and the other two are more than happy to play along.

Washington pulls a thick manila folder from his briefcase and lays it on the table. Alexander eyes it warily.

Laurens taps his shoulder, “Nous allons trouver un table. Bon chance.”

Alexander smiles at him. “D’accord… Et merci.”

Lafayette stage-whispers, “Bon chance!” as he and Laurens are led to another table by a waitress.

 

2

“Laundry! Bring out your laundry!”

Alexander’s piercing yell brings Laurens out of a rather pleasant dream, one involving dragons and someone who was, in retrospect, probably a strange mixture of Gandalf and Nikola Tesla.

Distracted by the awesomeness of a lightning-wizard, John forgets for a second why he was woken up. But only for a second, because soon Alexander is there, banging a hammer on a laundry basket and belting out, “Bring out your laundry!”

If John thought watching _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ with Alexander the previous night wouldn’t provoke some obnoxious reference-slinging, he was sorely mistaken.

(Ok, he figured he would hear the word “Ni!” a few more times than usual, but he never expected Alexander to go this far with it – in hindsight, he should have expected this. Alexander Hamilton never does anything half-way, not even pop culture references.)

They have a system. When the dirty clothes start piling up, one of them initiates the laundry-day ritual. Their job is to gather up all the dirty laundry and put it in a basket, which the other one takes down to the laundry room.

It is _not_ the first person’s job to wake up the other while gathering laundry. Alexander is playing fast and loose with the rules, here.

“You’re playing fast and loose with the rules here, Hamilton,” John tells him.

“That’s not the only way I’m fast and loose, John,” Alexander says giddily, then, “—wait, fuck, that’s not a good thing.”

John just groans and rolls over.

Alexander pokes his shoulder, “Are you gonna take the laundry down, or..?”

John sits up and says _yeah_ and then he looks at Alexander’s bloodshot eyes and blurts out, “Are you high?”

Alexander looks startled, “Um, no? I mean,” he laughs, “I haven’t slept in approximately—“ he looks at his watch-less arm, “—forty-eight hours? Probably more like forty-nine.”

“Alex…”

Alexander hefts the laundry basket onto John’s bed and says, “If there were achievements in real-life – like, Xbox achievements, not real actual achievements that truly achieve something – this one would be called ‘Miner Forty-Niner,’ I think,” effectively cutting off _that_ conversation, because what the fuck.

“ _Right_ ,” John says, because what the fuck. He gets out of bed. “So, I’m gonna get ready to be seen in public, and then I’m gonna take this laundry down, and while I’m doing all that you are going to sleep.”

Being guided down onto the bed by John’s hands on his shoulders is something Alexander can’t really resist, both because he’s extremely tired and, well, John’s _bigger_ than he is, so he couldn’t put up much of a fight anyway.

“I’m only acquiescing because you’re bigger than me, so it’d be foolish to engage you in a physical contest,” Alexander mumbles into the pillow.

“Okay,” John says.

John makes sure Alexander is comfortable before performing his hair-care ritual (it takes twenty minutes – at least – but it makes him look _respectable_ , so it’s worth every minute [and also every penny spent on hair gel]).

When he goes to retrieve the laundry basket from his room, his eyes catch on Alexander and there’s a _feeling_ in his chest, and it’s probably not heartburn, and isn’t that something.

 

3

Alexander thinks it’s a rebellion thing. He glances up to see John leaning into the mirror so he can get his hair _just_ _right_. Yeah, definitely a rebellion thing.

He’d only met Henry Laurens once, years ago, and the dislike was both instant and mutual. It clearly pained John that his father and his best friend didn’t get along, though, so Alexander tried his best to be civil.

It’s a rebellion thing, although John admires and respects his father.

Henry Laurens wants his son to be _respectable_.

Well, what’s respectable about a sidecut? You couldn’t be a lawyer with a sidecut. You probably couldn’t be a doctor with a sidecut, even if Henry Laurens would permit such a career for his eldest son.

John Laurens certainly didn’t want to be a lawyer. _Maybe_ a doctor.

“You could be the first doctor with a sidecut,” Hamilton says aloud.

John turns away from the mirror to smile at him quizzically. Hamilton shrugs in answer and returns to his textbook.

 

4

He’s holding a letter.

He’s holding a letter, and he looks heartbroken.

John enters the room fully, closing the door behind him and tossing his backpack onto the couch. He approaches Alexander and speaks softly, “Alex, what’s wrong?”

When Alexander looks up at him, there are tears in his eyes.

John doesn’t even know what happened, but he thinks he might cry too, just from seeing the look on Alexander’s face.

“My—father,” Alexander manages to say before he covers a sob with his hand.

John doesn’t say anything, just steps closer and wraps him arms around Alexander, allowing him to cry as much as he needs.

When he’s finished, he steps back and holds the letter out to John.

John looks from the letter to Alexander’s face. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Alexander nods and puts the letter in John’s hand.

It’s handwritten. _My dear son,_ it begins. He almost stops there, recognizing the same words his father uses – eventually they sound sarcastic, mocking.

He sees the devastated look on his dear Alexander’s face, and he continues reading.

> _My dear son, I regret that I cannot visit you now or anytime in the foreseeable future, as I must look after my own deteriorating health. My doctors advise me to stay at home, so travel is not an option._
> 
> _I know you are busy with your studies. Please do not take time away from them to visit me._
> 
> _Thank you again for your gift earlier this month. I am very sorry we cannot see each other soon._
> 
> _\- Your loving father_

“Alexander, I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to tell you, in case he couldn’t make it, but I couldn’t help getting my hopes up. I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, but we’ve been writing letters, and I’ve sent some money, but that wasn’t _enough_ for me and I really thought we could meet and—“

“Wait, Alex, you’ve sent him money?” John sets the letter down on the table and sits down. Alexander sits down across from him.

“I—yes?” Alexander looks confused, as if he didn’t expect John to find issue in that detail.

“He’s asking for money and he’s avoiding seeing you?” John presses. He knows that Alexander will only accept something if he sees it himself; telling him bluntly won’t help.

Alexander recoils. “What are you implying? I’m not—“ he scoffs. “I am _not_ being scammed by my own father.”

“Alex, I know it’s difficult—“

“No, John,” Alexander stands abruptly, “Just because your father treats you like a puppet, ready to dance at his whim, doesn’t mean everyone’s father is like that. He’s _ill_ , didn’t you read it? He can’t travel.”

John stands up to grab Alexander’s arm before he can bolt to his bedroom, “Alex, he asked you not to come visit, even though he must know winter break is coming up. I know you’re only lashing out because you know it’s true but you don’t want to believe it.”

Alexander shakes his head furiously and pulls his arm out of John’s grip, “He hasn’t been in school for who knows how long, John. People who aren’t in school don’t think about school schedules. He obviously doesn’t know I have time to visit him—“ his voice cracks, and John can see the tears building up again before Alexander dashes into his room and slams the door.

John takes a deep breath. This definitely could have gone better. Maybe he should’ve been more supportive? He isn’t quite sure how to do that. It’s a personal failing.

Steeling himself, John knocks softly on Alexander’s door. He hears a muffled _Go away!_

Ignoring that, he opens the door. He’s going to be supportive whether Hamilton likes it or not.

Inside, Alexander is lying on his bed in the fetal position, curled around a pillow, still hiccuping little sobs.

John gently lowers himself onto the bed behind Alexander, brushing back the hair that’s in his face, sticking to the tears.

Alexander sobs a laugh, “I know your hair is perfect, John, but I think mine can afford to be a little messy at the moment.”

John grins. “Do you want me to spoon you?”

Alexander nods into the mattress.

 

5

John sticks his head in the doorway, “Hey, are you planning on having eggs in the next, say, three days?”

“Um,” Alexander looks up from his laptop, on which he’s writing an essay, “no?”

“Cool,” John’s head disappears as quickly as it had appeared.

“John!” Alexander shuts his laptop, “John, what are you going to do to the eggs?!” He rushes to the kitchenette.

John’s cracking half a dozen eggs into a bowl.

“Are you making omelettes?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Alexander observes, fascinated, as John finishes cracking the eggs and takes the bowl into the bathroom.

He sticks one hand in the bowl and pulls a dollop of egg goop onto his head.

“ _John_ ,” Alexander is horrified.

“I ran out of hair gel,” John says, as if that explains his bizarre behavior.

“And you can’t just go buy _more?_ ” Alexander stares, stricken, at the ooze on John’s head.

John scoffs, “Not without using hair gel. I can’t just walk out of here gel-less.”

“Why didn’t you pay better attention to your hair gel stock? Or, I could go buy some?” Alexander sputters, “You do realize there is such a thing as Amazon, right?”

John shakes his head, and a bit of egg threatens to fly off. “They don’t sell on Amazon. It’s some special stuff from that farmer’s market down the road. They use egg whites in their formula so, whatever, right?” he shrugs.

“ _John_. That logic is so flawed I’m actually worried about you right now. Like, worried for your well-being. Are you ill?” Alexander reaches up to take John’s temperature with the back of his hand.

John swats his hand away, “Careful, you’ll get egg on you.” He picks up the blow dryer and begins styling his hair while drying the egg into it.

Alexander simply looks on with a mixture of awe and disgust. “I can’t believe I’m attracted to you,” he says.

John flicks the blow dryer off and says, “Did you say something?”

 

+1

“Laurens.”

John rolls over and says, “mmph.”

Alexander shoves his shoulder. “Laurens.”

John blinks awake and grunts.

Alexander picks up the bedside clock and shoves it in John’s face. “Laurens, it is 7:39.” He replaces the clock with his own face. “You are going to be late.”

John bolts upright, scrambling to free himself from the blankets and falling on his face instead.

“Laurens,” Alexander laughs, “let me help.”

With Alexander’s help, John is freed from the blankets’ grasp and he rushes to get ready.

“Laurens, I told you not to take the 8 AM class,” Alexander reclines on the bed, crossing his legs.

John emerges from the bathroom looking a fright, still pulling on his shirt, his hair un-gelled and in disarray.

“It was the only art class that fit my schedule, and I really need that credit,” John says, finally getting his right arm through the sleeve.

Alexander sits up and rolls his eyes, grinning, “Yeah, it’s got nothing to do with you being an art major at heart.”

John scoffs and Alexander understands it’s a touchy subject, so he relents. When John gets closer to grab his jacket he must see the dark circles under Alexander’s eyes, because he says, “How much sleep did you get last night?”

Alexander shrugs. “I have an econ test tomorrow, so.”

John cocks an eyebrow. “Take a nap,” he says. “And I know you don’t need to stay up all night studying for that. You could recite your notes word-for-word in your sleep.”

“It’s 7:50,” Alexander says without so much as glancing at the clock.

“Oh!” John starts backing toward the door. “I’ll see you in two-ish hours then, and you’d better be sleeping.” He turns to open the door.

“Laurens.”

John turns back.

“Don’t forget your sketches.”

John grins sheepishly. “Thanks,” he says. He grabs his sketchbook off the couch and turns back toward the door.

“Laurens.”

John turns back once again and cocks an eyebrow.

“Come here.”

“Okay, but this class is like ten minutes away so this needs to be quick.”

“I’m always quick.”

John raises both eyebrows this time.

“Jesus, that didn’t come out right. Why do you let me talk when I’m sleep-deprived?”

John shrugs, “I honestly have no idea.”

Alexander pulls John by the hand and reaches up.

“What are you doing?” John makes to pull back.

Alexander tugs him closer again, makes him stay put. He reaches up one hand and runs it through John’s hair, fluffing it up. He grins, “There.”

“Um.” The question is evident in John’s eyes.

“You never leave the house without doing something with your hair.”

“Oh.”

They’re still holding hands.

John’s definitely blushing.

Alexander definitely finds it incredibly endearing.

“It’s 7:54.”

**Author's Note:**

> i once took a 7:30am math class and lemme tell you laurens has it easy here
> 
> #3 is just me venting laurens-feels
> 
> #5 is based on john laurens maybe possibly using flour as hair powder at the (possibly joking) suggestion of his father bc he had run out of actual hair powder and he was a fucking nerd. i googled "hair gel alternatives" and found [this](https://www.quora.com/If-you-desperately-need-some-hair-gel-but-none-is-available-what-should-you-use-in-a-pinch).
> 
> p.s. does anyone even own a bedside clock anymore
> 
> p.p.s. i’m so tired i typed “blowfryer” instead of blowdryer and laughed for five minutes
> 
> p.p.p.s. i'm on [tumblr](http://hiramgrant.tumblr.com)


End file.
